


Malicious Compliance

by TheresAlotYouDontKnowAboutMe



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Roy Mustang, M/M, Mocking, Obeying Orders, Sexual Coercion, Spanking, Threats of Violence, implied Hughes/mustang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheresAlotYouDontKnowAboutMe/pseuds/TheresAlotYouDontKnowAboutMe
Summary: Further King Bradely called Roy Mustang into his office for a chat. Infurated by Mustang's plans against him, but unable to kill him, Bradely figures out another way to satisfy his wrath: he makes a deal. He won't hurt any of Mustang's friends, if Mustang will just obey him for an hour.Knowing he's being underestimated, Mustang has no choice but to obey.
Relationships: Roy Mustang/Wrath
Comments: 1
Kudos: 95





	Malicious Compliance

Fuhrer King Bradley is sitting at the same desk that Mustang had spent months at. The desk that he'd expected to advance past before he knew anything about transmutation circles, philosophers stones, and homunculi.

The colonel hesitates in the doorway.  _ There was no reason that-- _

"Shut the door." Bradley commands.

Mustang does as he's told.  _ Another meeting? Why?  _ He'd been playing it safe, keeping everything on the down-low.  _ He can't know anything. Still.  _ He shouldn't be cock _ y. _

"Something I can help you with, sir?" He asks, standing at attention.

"Come here, Colonel." King Bradley says, unmoving, his elbows resting on the desk.    
Mustang does as he's told. He reaches out a hand to pull out one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"No." Bradley's voice freezes him, and the hand drops back to his side. "I don't want you sitting down."

_ What is this? That bastard-- _ "Then what do you want me here for, sir?" He does his best to control the edge of irritation.

"I want you on your knees."

Silence.

_ Has he lost his mind? _ Mustang grits his teeth. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

King Bradley stands. "It isn't that complicated of an order. But you do seem to have a hard time following simple instructions." He moves around the desk, standing in front of Mustang. Looking down on him. "I thought the girl would be enough of a warning. But you really are a fool."

_ How can he know anything about what we've been doing? I've been too careful. He must be bluffing... And if he's not, I have to figure out-- _

"If you want something specific, sir, just tell me."

"I couldn't have been anymore clear."

Another moment of tense silence.

_ He can't seriously mean-- _

Bradley rests one hand on his shoulder and presses down. The force is greater than Mustang anticipated. With the slightest of grunts, he's forced to the ground.

"Was that so difficult?" Bradley asks. He rests a hand on Mustang's head. "You see, you've been a pain in my side for a long time now. It's been making me furious. Watching you passing your notes like you're something clever."

Mustang's eyes widen. He does know.  _ But how-- and why act now? _ His mind snaps immediately to Riza, to Furey, To Fulman... His team.  _ Were they... _

"I know what you're planning, Colonel. You were arrogant to think that a mere human could outsmart something like me. And you're arrogant to think that any of what you're doing matters."

Mustang struggles to look up, forcing the Fuhrer's hand. He meets his eyes.  _ Is this just to humiliate me?! Maybe if I act now, I can-- _

"I'm not going to hurt your pathetic friends. Not yet." Bradley removes his hand. He turns to the desk.

_ Now's my chance!! _ Mustang tenses, his hands ready, and begins to rise when Bradley turns and pours the contents of the water pitcher from the desk over his head.

"Ah--" Mustang, posed to snap, is rendered useless.  _ What-- _

Bradley's expression has not changed. In the blink of an eye, he has Mustang by the throat and lifts him into the air.

"I told you your friends were alive for now. That could easily change. Are you really willing to risk their lives for your pride?" His other hand isn't even on his sword.

Mustang grabs the arm that's holding him up, finding it unmovable. His feet can't even touch the floor... _Why would he bother sparing them... Why bother doing this? It doesn't make sense... What does he want? Just want to humiliate me?! He can't_ _seriously be this shallow!_

"I prefer you this way, Roy." Bradley smiles slightly. "That look in your eyes: the fear, the surprise, the anger. I know you can act. I hate it when you do."    
The hold on his throat is getting tighter, restricting oxygen.

"But pain is always genuine."

_ Is he really... Going to... Kill me... Here? No... I've worked too hard--.... At least Riza will... At least they still have the plan... And I can die... Instead... _

His vision is fading, the kicking of his feet slowing.    
And then Bradley drops him. "It's too bad I can't kill you here. If it were up to me, you would have been dead a long time ago."

Mustang gasps in air, coughing, the air burning his now-aching throat.  _ Can't kill me...? Why?  _ He returns to his knees, drawing himself up, meeting Bradley's eyes again.  _ If I have the chance to kill this thing I'm going to-- _

"I'll make you a deal."

_ There's nothing I want from you, you sick-- _

"Obey me. Just for an hour. I want you to do everything I tell you. And if you do that, I will keep my end of the bargain and make sure your friends get to live the next few months in peace."

_ The next few months? He's the one who's arrogant. He thinks we won't stand a chance against them when the time comes. He's really going to let us keep our plans because he thinks so little of us? _ Mustang almost smirks, despite his position.  _ If the only thing I need to do to keep him deceived and my soldiers alive is follow some orders... There's no choice.  _

"What orders... Sir?" His voice is rough, the sir is mocking.

"Stay on your knees. Give me your gloves."    
He does as he's told. Peeling off the wet gloves and placing them in the waiting hand. Bradley sets them on the desk.

"Now your coat."

_ So he is going for humiliation. I won't make it easy.  _   
Mustang unbuttons his coat, undoes the belt around his waist, and pulls it off, folding it before handing it up. Bradley also places that on the desk.

"Now your shirt." 

  
_ My shirt? What does he want exactly? _

Nonetheless, Mustang does as he's commanded.

"Remove your belt and weapons."

_ How many layers is he going to keep this up for? If he wanted me naked, he could have saved us both time and been more efficient with his orders. _

"Good." Bradley surveys the half-naked man on his knees before him. "I wonder what your subordinates would say if they saw you like this. Do you think they'd be flattered? Or just disgusted."

"If that wasn't a rhetorical question, sir, I think--"

"Stand."

Mustang stands. He's always been a good soldier. And he understands following orders. Even from people he'd rather see dead.

"Bend over your desk, Colonel."

It clicks for him them. He can feel himself tense."Which way?" He asks. 

In response, Bradley grabs his hair and bends him over the desk by force. "Don't take that tone with me, understand?"

Mustang can feel the taller man's bulk against him, pressing his hips sharply into the desk.  _ That bastard... Is this what he had in mind the whole time?! _ "Yes... Sir."

"Good. Stay still." And Bradley releases his hair, his gloved hands trailing across Mustang's face and throat before moving along his bare spine. The touch raises goosebumps. Mustang is shaking slightly, he's infuriated.

Bradley can almost taste the emotion. He licks lips, moving his other hand to caress the Colonel's bare back.

_ You could at least touch me, you coward. Or do you think you're too good for even that?! _

"Now you're starting to understand what you've been putting me through, Mustang. How angry being helpless can make you. Especially when I should be able to kill you and your friends."

_ There he goes again, with that. What does he mean? Why can't he? What does he want with me in the long run? Does this all have something to do with the 'sacrifices'? _ Mustang involuntary gasps, his thoughts interrupted. Bradley's hands have moved up under his body, and the gloved thumbs have found his nipples where they were just pressed against the cold wood of the desk.

Bradley smirks at the sound, the twitch of the body below him. Against his ass, Mustang can feel the Fuhrer getting hard. He grits his teeth.    
_ Damnit, this better be worth it. They better save King for me when we win this war so I can stab him myself. _

"Stay." Bradley says, the weight up another body letting up, hands leaving his skin. Mustang obeys. His mind is racing.

After a moment, Bradley returns to again douse Mustang. The water is freezing. He jumps, despite himself.

"What the hell was that?!" He demands. "I wasn't going to atta--"

Bradley pulls off one of his own gloves and shoves it into Mustang's mouth. "I'm not taking chances."

This time Mustang can feel the large, calloused hand against his skin.  _ Damn him... That doesn't feel half bad, considering. _ Better than the gloves. He spits out the glove. As he thought, Bradley removes his other one, jerking Mustang's head back by his wet hair and forcing it into his mouth.

"If I choose something for you, you will keep it."

_ At least now he's lost them both. And he thinks he can see through manipulation. He's-- _

Bradley draws back one hand and spanks the Colonel. Hard. Mustang rocks forward, the massive desk squeaking forward, his hips biting into wood with bruising force. Mustang grits his teeth. He refuses to make a sound.

"That sounded fun. We should try it again." Bradley pulls back and hits Mustang's ass harder. His fists clench, he doesn't make a sound.  _ I won't give you that satisfaction! _

"This doesn't seem to bother you. We'll see." And Bradley beats the Flame Alchemist's ass, desk squeaking forward, until the Colonel cries out. Once. A brief cry. Unintentional.

Bradley pauses.

_ Damn _ . His hips feel raw. He's lost the glove.

"That is what I like to hear." And then Bradley resumes the beating.

_ Maybe this is all he wants from me. Like I'm some kind of child being punished. If that's the case, I can stand it, no problem _ .

At the next, muffled, cry of pain Bradley stops. Mustang's ass is throbbing. His hips must be bleeding. He thinks his desk is cracked.

"Excellent. You can behave. Spread your legs."

_ I guess I'm really not getting off easy... _ Apparently, he's too slow to do this because Bradley kicks his feet apart for him.  _ Sick bastard won't even give me a chance. Some kind of leader he is. _

Bradley resumes his position behind Mustang, who raises himself up on his elbows. Water drips onto the wood.  _ Could be worse. Could be any other homunculi. Well, Lust-- _

Bradley's hands move down his body and into his waistline. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he tugs down his pants. Mustang shivers slightly, beads of water running down his legs.

Bradley traces the burn scar in Mustang's side, the one caused by Lust. "You must think you're special."

Mustang smirks. "Do you want me to call you daddy, too?"

"No. That isn't my style. I have a Father."

"You are a Father."

Bradley thrusts two fingers in Mustang's ass.  _ Ah damn.... Of course he's not going to be gentle... _

"I don't like your tone, Colonel. You should be more respectful of your superiors."

_ Superiors maybe. Betters, never. _ "Yes, sir." The fingers pull free.

The Fuhrer's calloused hands move down Mustang's burning ass, between his thighs, taking the time to feel every tense muscle in his legs. Then they come back up, a hand moving to grasp where Mustang is already hard. 

"I see you enjoy being dominated. At least you can do one thing right."

_ I wouldn't say that. It's certainly not a reaction to your charm. _

Bradley takes a minute to roughly grope Mustang, enjoying the position, the sound of sharp, bitten back whimpers.

_ He's dead. As soon as I see the opportunity. _

Most of this time has passed with Bradley's crotch pressed firmly into his ass. Doesn't bode well.  _ He's most definitely bigger than-- _

"Is this your first, Colonel?"

"Am I a virgin?" Mustang laughs. It's met with those two fingers again.

Mustang winces. "Being raped?"

The fingers thrust deeper. He takes a sharp breath through his teeth. "...with a man?"

"Is it?" Bradley asks, twisting those fingers.

"Might be." Mustang says through gritted teeth. But, not for the first time, he sends a silent prayer of thanks to Brigadier General Maes Hughes. _ You've always prepared for so much more than you knew _ ...    
Bradley fully thrusts his fingers into Mustang, bending and spreading them. Mustang drops his head onto his hands.  _ No. No way I'm letting you get the best of me. Not even here. _

Bradley pulls his hand free a moment only to thrust back in with three fingers.

"Ah!"  _ No. Not happening. You think you have all the power here.  _ With a burst of resolve, Mustang rocks back into the fingers. "Is that really all you've got?! This is your big show? Ha!"

Bradley says nothing. He pulls his fingers free again.

_ I hope I'm pissing him off. _ Behind him, he can hear Bradley unzip his pants.  _ Maybe I'm a little too good at pissing him off-- _

The thought is lost in a whitehot burst. A hand comes down on his back and shoves him flat on the desk, into the puddle of water. The other hand locks around his sore hip.

_ Ah, there we go-- he's-- _

Bradley takes a moment to adjust inside of the Colonel. "I warned you about that tone. What do you have to say to your Fuhrer?"

_ That son of a bitch-- _ He thinks of Riza again. His fists clench, dark eyes flashing to Bradley. "I apologize for my conduct, sir."

"I don't see any point in forgiving you, or letting you off easy." Bradley responds.

_ Then why-- _

And Bradley thrusts fully into Mustang again. The alchemist does not effectively hold his tongue, he does bite it. Blood fills his mouth, and he spits. It mixes with the water.

"This is exactly where you belong." And with that Bradley picks up his pace. Each thrust is a violent motion, a stab that finds its way deep inside Mustang. And again. And again.

_ Nnggghh... _ Mustang loses his ability to control what noises he's making. Not a few of them are curses. Bradley is relentless. Eventually, the motion becomes easier, lubricated by blood.

After what seems to Mustang a long time, Bradley finally thrusts deep and cums. This entire time he hasn't made a sound.

_ Finally, I thought that stupid-- _

But he doesn't pull free. Or let up on his hold. "You promised me an hour, Colonel."

_ Ah damnit. And he's a homunculus. That means his stamina is going to be ridiculously high _ . Mustang is annoyed he's been put into a position where he has to think about homunculi sex drives.

Bradley wastes no time in working back into Mustang. The second time is even longer. He can feel a warm mixture of blood and cum rolling down his thighs each time Bradley pulls back enough.

_ How many times is he going to fuck me?! _ The fuhrer pays no heed to Mustang himself.

"Is this how you fuck your wife?!" Mustang snaps.    
It's the wrong choice. Bradley's hand moves to Mustang's throat, the one with the bruising grip around his hip moves around his waist, and he lifts him entirely from the desk. From the ground. Effortlessly continuing to thrust.

_Agh... This.. This is ridiculous!_ Bradley keeps just enough pressure on Mustang's windpipe to strangle any sounds. He's never felt this helpless before. Never felt so controlled. The feeling isn't...Wholly unpleasant, but he wouldn't say he likes it. 

Finally, after what seems like it must have been that promised hour, Bradley fills Mustang a second time. He goes limp. The fuhrer takes a minute, holding the Colonel.

"What do you say?" Bradley asks. The command underlying that question is obvious.

_ You coward. You inhuman bastard. You monster. _ "...tha... Thank you. Sir."

"Good. Maybe I can teach you, after all." And Bradley throws him to the ground, moving back to sit in the desk chair.

Mustang stands, his legs are shaking.

"Is that the same look you gave Lust?" Bradley asks, almost amused. "Is that your look for battle? The eyes of a killer? Come here."

_ Are you joking? _

"Your hour isn't quite up."    
...    
Mustang goes to him. "Sir?"

"On your knees."

_ Son a bitch. He's serious. There can't be that much time left. _

Mustang does as he's told.

"You're a smart young man. I think you can figure out what to do here."

Mustang's eyes flash. "I'm just a subordinate, remember? Why don't you spell it out. Sir."

"Alright. I want you to suck me off." Bradley raises on eyebrow. "What's that look? I ordered you to indiscriminately murder. You performed then just fine. Is this really so much worse?"

_ I might be a war criminal, but that doesn't matter here does it? This has nothing to do with that-- you didn't even know my name. _ But now he does now. He's going through all this trouble claiming not to care. The thought is satisfying enough to spur Mustang into action.

Bradley runs his fingers through Mustang's dark hair, the gesture is too soft.  _ He's mocking me.  _   
It seems like the Fuhrer's only objective is to choke Mustang. It's not as easy as he assumed it would be.

Again, Mustang silently thanks Hughes.    
This process is much shorter. Bradley does not allow Mustang the option of spitting.

_He's going to pay. He's going to regret this._   
Bradley pulls Mustang's head from between his legs and neatly zips up his pants. "Get dressed, Colonel."

Mustang stands. Firmly this time. And he dresses himself. "You didn't even kiss me a single time, sir." He says, buttoning his jacket. The bite in his voice is obvious.

"I don't have any desire to."

Mustang scoffs. "You're a pretty selfish lover."

"Lover?" Bradley gives him a measured look. "No. This had nothing to do with love."

_ That's the first thing you've been right about today.  _ "Am I dismissed?"

"Yes."

Mustang turns his back on the Furher, on his own desk. He brushes his damp hair from his eyes.    
_ The time will come. _

...if Hawkeye doesn't kill Bradley first after today


End file.
